The Glitter of Wisdom is Silver in the Hair
by KaasKnot
Summary: "I meant no offence," said Bilbo Baggins, burglar and now disturber of the peace.


"I meant no offence," said Bilbo Baggins, burglar and now disturber of the peace.

Fili turned back from where his brother had disappeared into the bracken. The rest of the company was shifting uncomfortably, carefully avoiding his and Bilbo's gazes; as for their leader and prince, Thorin paid no mind to the distress of those around him, sharpening a knife as though naught was the matter. Fíli looked to the bewildered hobbit and sighed. "You couldn't have known."

Bilbo looked yet uneasy, and Fíli's heart sank at the inevitable. As closest kin to the wounded party, it was his duty to accept weregild for Kíli's injury in his absence.

Only, this was not a case that could be dealt with blood or gold, for not only was Bilbo ignorant of dwarven ways, it was an insult that could not be acknowledged as such. It was the insult due a punishment, and was no injury at all.

He would have to dissect his brother's shame in front of his elders.

"A dwarf's beard indicates his status," Fíli began. The words did not come easily. "If it is well-groomed and adorned, he has wealth and resources. If it is long, he is an Elder and worthy of respect. If... if it is absent he is a child."

Bilbo looked to the others. Their eyes were bent to sundry tasks, but their ears were pricked. He looked back to Fíli, his confusion plain, and Fíli found himself swallowing back a flare of helpless anger. None of this was the hobbit's fault, but why couldn't he just know? Then all would be spared this embarrassing recitation.

"Kíli's not a child, is he? Not on a quest like this?" The hobbit's voice bore a seed of indignation.

"No, my brother is not a child. He's a dwarf grown."

"Then why-"

It was too much. Fíli shot to his feet, unable to suppress himself any longer. He forced down his angered snarl upon seeing Bilbo's stricken face. "Please, Uncle," he said, and finally Thorin looked up from his seat by the fire. His eyes glittered like chipped obsidian. His gaze flickered between Fíli and Bilbo before slicing to the woods where Kíli had so recently disappeared. The weight of his attention pressed against Fíli, judging, weighing. He nodded. "Go tend the ponies."

Fíli let out a gusty sigh and backed away from the campsite. "My apologies, Master Baggins," he said, and turned to the trees. Behind him, he heard Thorin's voice, a basso rumble that cut through the clatterings of his Company. "Bofur. Explain to Master Baggins the nature of his insult." There was a faint reply, but what exactly it was Fíli didn't hear, for he was already pushing through bush and bramble, following his brother's trail.

It was easy enough to do, for dwarves are less easy in the woods than they are in stone halls and Kíli had made no effort to hide his passing. It was as simple as following a wounded deer, but the tracks dead-ended in a tiny glade and Fíli was not so adept a hunter as to be able to pick it up again. He pushed down the panic that threatened to lodge in his throat. "Kíli?" he croaked, barely above the murmur of the creek. He scanned the darkened trees, unsettled by their slanted, irregular lines. There was no response. He tried again, louder. "Kíli!"

"I am here, brother."

Fíli spun, and Kíli materialised from the gloom, glaring at Fíli from his seat on a gnarled root.

"Kíli," he said, unable and unwilling to keep the relief from his tone.

"Fíli," Kíli replied, almost mockingly. "Have you missed me already? I would have thought you entertained a little while longer with such food to feed your amusement."

Fíli found himself stunned speechless at his brother's tone. "That is not-I wouldn't-"

"No?" Kíli hissed. "Then were you afraid for my welfare, as a babe-in-arms? Or perhaps worried I might get into another fight and have our dear uncle shave me bald?"

"Stop," Fíli ground out. "Stop it, Kíli. That is not why I came."

Kíli turned away, propping his elbow on his knee and hiding his face in its crook. Fíli's heart ached for him. He stepped closer, into the murk beneath the tree's canopy, and knelt before him. "I came because I would not have you be alone," he said. "You are my brother. I would help, if I can." He reached out and placed a hand on Kíli's knee.

Kíli snorted. "It is not something you can help." He raised his face from where it rested. His eyes were shadowed in the dark. "My beard will grow as it grows, and no sentiment from you, dear brother, will make it grow faster."

"I did not mean the beard, idiot," Fíli replied. "I meant to help you."

Kíli was silent a moment. "Is this an open offer, or only limited to-"

"I'm not going to clean your tack, so you can stop right there."

The white of Kíli's smile struck a pale contrast to the stubble coating his cheeks. "Worth a try." Fíli smiled in reply, and he couldn't stop the impulse to reach up and cup his brother's face. Kíli froze beneath his hand, his smile vanishing and his eyes going flat, but Fíli paid him no mind, caught instead by the rasp against his palm.

It was a strange sensation. Fíli knew the coarse silkiness of a beard full-grown, and the downy brush of a woman's face, but this, the scrape of a shaven beard-it was entirely new. He was testing how it lay smooth in one direction and coarse in the other when Kíli grabbed his wrist.

"Fíli." His eyes were stormy, torn between shame and heat and anger, and he was rigid beneath his brother's touch.

"I'm sorry," Fíli said, ashamed, and he began to draw his fingers away-

-only for Kíli's own to tighten, preventing his withdrawal. Fíli searched his brother's face. The longing ambivalence he saw broke his heart, and he searched for some way to ease Kíli's hurt. It wasn't in him to do otherwise.

An idea came to him, and he broke Kíli's grip long enough to dig through the coin-purse on his belt. He withdrew two silver clips, tiny, cylindrical, and all that remained of Kíli's moustaches. "I know you haven't worn braids since," he said, "and I know it's not the same, but if you would permit me?" He held up the clips.

Kíli swallowed thickly, and nodded. He bent his head, his hair slipping from his shoulders to hang loose in the air between them. Fíli opened the clip that tied his brother's hair back, running his thumb over the family sigils etched into it before pressing it into Kíli's open hand. He ran his fingers through the loosened strands, easing out the tangles, and Kíli's eyes drifted closed.

After a moment's thought, Fíli separated out a lock of hair at Kíli's temple. "Hold back the rest," he said, and Kíli complied. With the deftness of long practice Fíli divided the lock into three strands, and quick as a blink he twisted them into a rope braid. He popped open one of the clips and snapped it shut around the tassel. It caught the moonlight, shining as though with inner fire.

Satisfied, he dropped the braid and shifted to his brother's other side. He ignored the roots pressing into his knees, selecting the lock and parting the strands with all the focus he reserved for metalwork. It was the least he could do for his baby brother. When he was done, two small braids fell to frame Kíli's face, the clips bright against his dark hair.

"Now Mama's clip," he murmured, taking it from Kíli's hand and rising amidst popping knees to stand behind him. He drew back Kíli's hair, combing it with his fingers and picking out stray leaves and sticks that had found their way into the silky strands. Leaving the bulk to fall against his brother's shoulders, he clipped back the balance, that it would be out of Kíli's eyes. He rested his hand against his brother's shoulder.

Kíli reached up to run his fingers over the braids. He swallowed, then rose, turning to face Fíli. "Thank you," he said, voice ragged.

Fíli shrugged. "Anything for my brother." He raised his hand to Kíli's face once more, but indecision froze him halfway. He looked to his brother. Kíli was sombre, but his face set. He took up his brother's hand and drew it to him, laying a kiss on Fíli's palm. Fíli trembled at the touch. Their eyes met.

At no more urging than that they pulled each other close, meeting in a clash of lips and teeth, the surge of emotion spending itself in their kiss. Fíli stumbled over the root between them, heedless of everything but the desire to get closer to his brother. Kíli growled in the back of his throat and wheeled Fíli about until his back was pressed against the nearby tree-trunk. Its bark dug through the layers of his clothes, but Fíli paid it no mind. His world had shrank to the hot slip-slide of his brother's mouth on his, the scrape of his brother's stubble against his skin, the-Mahal-the tug of his teeth on Fíli's moustache.

Too soon the kiss gentled, the high emotions spent, and Fíli felt the exhaustion of the day catch up to him. He released his death-grip on Kíli's surcoat and pressed a parting kiss against his lips before drawing back. "We should return," he murmured. Kíli grunted in reply, burying his face in Fíli's shoulder. Fíli stroked his hair.

The night around them was settling into slumber. The moon was full in the sky, and the muffled snorts and stamps of the ponies were almost drowned out by the chirping crickets. It was quiet and it was calm, and Fíli was loath to return to the camp. He sighed, and stroked Kíli's hair.

Perhaps the others could spare their company a while longer.

END


End file.
